Seduction on His Terms

by Sarah M. Anderson

  She mulled over the options. “What if—and I’m just throwing this out there—what if I can get your mom alone? Like, we go to the ladies’ room together. You can stay behind to keep an eye on your father and I can get her to the car.” Assuming Mrs. Wyatt would go with Jeannie. A complete stranger.

  But it would be easy to get her alone. She needed a drink. One that stained would be best.

  Robert’s expression reflected doubt. “Reginald knows where to go. Everything else is ready. Take her and leave.” He leaned over, his fingertips barely brushing over her cheek. “Just be safe. I...I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.”

  Oh, Robert. “Listen to me, you stubborn man. I will be fine. It’s you I’m worried about.” He was already a mess. The average person wouldn’t be able to tell, but she knew. His voice was rough and he was straightening his cuffs again. Worst of all, his leg had begun to jump. “If you can get an opening, promise me you’ll take it. Send me two texts in a row—so I know you’re gone and I’ll get away. Trust me, Robert. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m a Wyatt,” he said sternly as the car pulled up in front of a building right off the Magnificent Mile, as if that was the cure for the world’s ills. “We never worry.” But then the hard lines of his face softened and the very corners of his lips curved up in a faint smile. “Ready to crash a party?”

  She grinned. “Hell, yes.”

  Reginald opened the door for them, his normally jovial face a blank mask. Robert handed her out of the car and then tucked her fingers into the crook of his arm. Then he murmured, “Be ready,” as they passed and Reginald nodded smartly before closing the door behind them.

  A crush of people waited to get through security. The crowd was a sea of black—black tuxedos, black gowns—Jeannie was suddenly glad she’d gone with the red. Her role was to be a distraction and in this dress, she stood out like a siren. Seriously, her boobs in this dress were practically works of art. For how much this dress cost, they damn well better be.

  Jeannie squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and tried to look bored as Robert cut through the crowd. A weaselly-looking man with thinning hair stood at the front of the line.

  Robert leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Alexander, Landon’s loyal assistant.”

  She nodded, sticking close to Robert’s side. Loyal? In other words, this was not a person to be trusted. It was easy to look all icy and disapproving when that was exactly how she felt.

  When the weasel caught sight of Robert, he waved them past security, calling, “Dr. Wyatt? This way.” Someone in line started to protest, but Robert swung around, daring anyone to complain with a cold glare. Jeannie tried to match his look.

  The crowd fell oddly silent in the face of Robert’s displeasure. Somewhere nearby, a camera flashed.

  Which was good because Jeannie needed to remember that she wasn’t here with Robert, a complicated and conflicted man who cared for sick children and infants and who had literally been the answer to her prayers. No, she was here with Dr. Robert Wyatt, of the Chicago Wyatts, a billionaire bachelor and one of the most powerful, dangerous men in the state.

  Time to own this room.

  She let her gaze slide over the people she passed as if she couldn’t be bothered to see them. Alexander led them through the crowd, up a spiral staircase. She was barely able to keep up with Robert’s long strides in the strappy black sandals the stylist had put her in to go with this dress.

  But even if she didn’t acknowledge the other party-goers, she could feel their reactions as she and Robert moved effortlessly through their ranks. People stopped and stared as they passed, but the moment they’d gone by, the loud whispers started.

  Hadn’t there been rumors of a falling-out between the elder Wyatt and the younger?

  How gauche that Wyatt dirtied his hands practicing medicine.

  And who was she?

  Dear God, was Jeannie really doing this? This was more than just crashing a gala. This was pulling a fast one over on the person who could put the fear of God into Robert.

  She stiffened her spine. Go big or go home.

  “This way,” Alexander said. He glanced at Jeannie and she stared down her nose at him, daring him to make a comment about Robert bringing a date.

  He didn’t. Instead, he led them to where a handsome man, almost as tall and almost as broad as Robert, was holding court. Landon Wyatt, billionaire gubernatorial candidate and total asshole. Not that anyone else would know it. All the tuxedoed men and glamorous women around him laughed heartily at his jokes, champagne flutes in hand, gems glittering at their necks and wrists and ears.

  They sounded like jackals. Maybe they were. Thank God she didn’t recognize any of them as customers from Trenton’s.

  Next to Landon stood an elegant older woman, smiling brightly and occasionally touching her husband on the arm or shoulder as he talked, as if she had to let him know where she was at all times. As Alexander wormed his way through to the inner circle, Robert’s mother caught sight of them.

  Although the crowd was too loud to hear Cybil Wyatt, Jeannie physically felt the woman’s sharp inhalation, saw the overwhelming longing in her eyes.

  Alexander tugged on Landon Wyatt’s sleeve and motioned to Robert with his chin. By the time Landon turned to his wife, her face was carefully blank.

  Wyatt’s face was how Jeannie might’ve imagined kings of old looking when a foreign dignitary dared grace his throne room. “Ah, here he is. Robert, my boy, how have you been?”

  Jeannie felt the tension in Robert’s arm. Say something, she mentally ordered him.

  “Father,” he managed. Then he looked to Cybil. “Mother.” He cleared his throat and his arm moved and Jeannie knew that if she hadn’t had a hold of him, he would’ve been straightening his cuffs.

  This was exactly why she’d insisted on coming tonight. Robert could be intense and scary—boy, could he—but when faced with his father in front of a crowd, he froze up.

  Landon’s gaze flicked over her. “What do we have here? I didn’t realize you were bringing a date, son.”

  She gave Robert a whole two seconds to respond but when he didn’t she stepped into the gap. “How do you do,” she said in her snootiest British accent. She released Robert’s arm and extended her hand to Landon, palm down. “Lady Daphne FitzRoy. Charmed.”

  “Lady FitzRoy?” Landon said, his lip curling as if he instinctively knew she was an imposter.

  “Of the London FitzRoys?” She sighed heavily and let her gaze narrow dismissively. She hadn’t been reading historical romances for the last fifteen years or so for nothing. All those ballroom scenes, with cuts direct and dukes and duchesses—an informal education in the British aristocracy was about to pay off big time. “But of course. I forget how you Americans are. Perhaps you’ve heard of my brother? The Duke of Grafton?”

  Because nothing caught the attention of a bully like a good old-fashioned reminder of where he really stood in the food chain.

  And it worked like a freaking charm. Landon Wyatt inhaled, his nostrils flaring as his pupils darkened and for a fleeting second, Jeannie understood exactly why Robert was terrified of this man. She felt like a little rabbit who’d just realized the wolf was pouncing.

  But she was no meek bunny. She cleared her throat and shot a disdainful look at her extended hand.

  Wyatt got the hint. He pressed cold lips to the back of her hand. Jeannie refused to allow her skin to prickle. “I’m not familiar with the FitzRoys of London,” he admitted, putting humor into his voice. “But welcome! Any sister of nobility is a friend of mine. And, apparently,” he added, cutting a glance to Robert, “a friend of my son’s. Well done, Robert.”

  Had she thought a wolf? That was wrong. He was a snake, one with hypnotizing eyes.

  She wouldn’t let him charm her. She tugged her hand free and turned to Robert’s mother
. “You must be Cybil. Delighted, I’m sure.” Jeannie kept her voice bored, determined not to give away her interest in Robert’s mother.

  “I didn’t realize Bobby—Robert—was bringing a guest,” Cybil said, her gaze darting between her son and Jeannie. “How...nice to make your acquaintance.”

  Years of observing customers kicked in and Jeannie noticed Cybil Wyatt wore her makeup too thick and that it went all the way down her neck and across her chest. Hiding bruises, maybe? She held her left shoulder higher than her right and her smile only used half her mouth, as if her jaw on the right side pained her.

  Jeannie caught sight of a waiter and impatiently snapped her fingers, mentally apologizing to the dude. People who snapped for attention at the bar got either too much ice in their glasses or a small pour.

  He hurried over, looking not the least bit bothered by her rudeness. Jeannie took two glasses from his tray and handed one to Robert. “Is this champagne or that American knockoff you all seem so proud of?” she asked in a voice too loud to be a whisper.

  She physically felt people pull back. Good. She’d shocked them—which meant they wouldn’t be able to stop looking at her.

  With a light laugh, Cybil said, “The champagne is French, I assure you. Sparkling white wine just isn’t the same, is it?” Her gaze darted to her husband and then she stepped around him. “It’s so good to see you,” she said, gripping Robert by the biceps. Jeannie could hear the truth of it in her voice. “I’m so glad you came.”

  “So am I,” he said, staring down at his mother, his concern obvious. Then he seemed to snap out of it. “Daphne was curious how politics work in America.”

  Right. This was her role. She waved this comment away, slugging back half her glass. She’d need to look drunk in relatively short order. “He exaggerates, of course. Politics and politicians are a complete and utter bore.”

  The hangers-on actually gasped out loud at this brazen insult but Jeannie refused to cower. She would not cede a bit of her pretend high ground. She was counting on keeping Wyatt’s attention by pretending to be beyond his spheres of influence. Instead, she rolled her shoulder in a not-apology.

  After a beat too long, Wyatt burst out laughing and quickly, everyone around them joined in. “Ah, that dry British humor,” he said out loud, his hand closing around her wrist like a manacle and drawing her by his side. Which was not a safe place to be, but it had the advantage of pushing Cybil and Robert a little farther away. “Tell me about yourself, Duchess.” This last was said in an openly mocking tone.

  “Oh, I’m not a duchess. That’s my sister-in-law. You may address me as Lady FitzRoy.” She said it pointedly because a true lady would demand respect.

  “My lady,” Wyatt said, his mouth moving in what might have been a grin. Oh, he was playing along but Jeannie knew he hadn’t decided if she was legit or not. “Do tell.”

  “What is there to say?” She finished her champagne and snapped at the waiter, who hurried to exchange her glass for a full one. “Grafton—my brother—does his part in the House of Lords but he’s dreadfully dull, as I said. So responsible.” She let her lip curl in distaste but at the same time, she brushed an invisible piece of lint off Wyatt’s shoulder and let her fingers linger. “Tell me, why would anyone want to run for office? Especially someone of your considerable stature? Public service is just so public. I’d think it’d be beneath a man of your obvious...talents.” She cut a dismissive glance at Robert. “Like working. In a hospital, for God’s sake,” she added in a stage whisper that everyone heard.

  Oh, that did the trick. Wyatt threw back his head with a brutal laugh—real humor at the expense of his son. A shiver of terror went down her back, but she smiled and notched an eyebrow at him, playing along. She saw the answer in Wyatt’s eyes when he looked at her—he was drunk on power and like any addict, he needed more.

  But like a good politician, he said, “As you know, we Wyatts are quite well-off.”

  She rolled her shoulder in that dismissive shrug again as if being billionaires was just so much dross.

  His pupils dilated. He was enjoying himself. Good. “I don’t seek the office of the governor for myself, you understand. I have everything I could ever want.” Wyatt’s gaze dipped to her breasts. She repressed a shudder. “It’s time to give back to the good people of Illinois. They deserve more and, having managed my company for so long, I alone have the skills to set things right and steer this great state into the future!”

  The fawning jackals broke out in applause. Flashbulbs flashed.

  Jeannie snapped for the poor waiter again because Lady Daphne FitzRoy was a bitch—and an alcoholic at that. She exchanged her half-empty glass for a full one and drank deeply. She needed to look sloppy drunk.

  She could feel Robert’s gaze on her.

  She refused to look.

  Thirteen

  “Come with me.”

  Robert kept his voice low, using the laughter of the crowd to hide his words. He didn’t look at Cybil Wyatt as he spoke. Instead, his gaze was locked on to Jeannie—or, rather, Lady FitzRoy. He couldn’t believe people were buying this line of BS, but even Landon seemed smitten with her. Or at least smitten with her breasts.

  “...in a hospital, for God’s sake,” she said, wobbling toward Landon as she said it. How much had she drunk? Aside from the wine at lunch last weekend, he’d never actually seen her drink before.

  Everyone laughed at his expense, Landon loudest of all.

  “I can keep you safe,” he added as Landon’s predatory gaze zeroed in on Jeannie. Jeannie had sworn she could handle herself. And he had to admit, she was one hell of a distraction.

  His mother’s grip on his arm tightened before she removed her hand entirely. “It’s not safe,” she said, smiling that smile he hated because it was a mask, a lie. “He’ll come after you. He’ll find me.”

  Like last time. She didn’t say it, but she didn’t need to.

  Mom looked awful. The way she held her body—didn’t anyone else here see the lines of pain around her eyes? The way her shoulders weren’t even? Had that bastard broken her ribs again?

  Landon Wyatt was going to pay for everything he’d done.

  The world went a little red at the edges, narrowing to Landon and Jeannie. She had another champagne flute in her hand and was waving it around. Champagne sloshed everywhere and people stepped back to make sure they didn’t get hit. Then she took another long drink and all but dropped the flute. A beleaguered waiter caught it before it hit the ground and then Jeannie had a fresh glass.

  Landon slid a taunting glance his way and then slid his arm around Jeannie’s waist, pulling her closer so he could whisper in her ear.

  Robert’s stomach rolled. Hard. Because he was supposed to be protecting the women he cared about. He wasn’t a kid anymore, forced to stand by and watch helplessly as Landon hurt women in the name of a teachable moment.

  This wasn’t happening. Jeannie wasn’t a paid escort. And she knew who she was dealing with.

  Trust me, she’d said.

  Did he have a choice?

  She looked at Robert, a mean smile on her lips. But then her glance bounced to his mother and back to him, her eyes widening just a little, and Robert got the distinct feeling she was telling him something.

  “He won’t find you,” Robert told his mother, hiding his mouth behind his glass as he spoke. His plan had been set into motion tonight and he couldn’t stop it if he wanted to—and he didn’t want to. He just needed to be sure Cybil was nowhere near Landon when the chips began to fall. Robert couldn’t bear to think of that bastard blaming Mom when things all fell apart. “He can’t win. But I need you to come with me.”

  For what felt like a century, she didn’t answer, didn’t look at him. She laughed politely at something rude Jeannie had said—about Robert, probably. He wasn’t paying attention.

  “
When?”

  Relief hit him so hard he almost cried. “My car is waiting. Jeannie or I will take you there.”

  That got her attention. She turned to fully face him, which was a rare mistake. It was never a good idea to give Landon Wyatt your back. “Who?”

  “My date.”

  Color deepened on Mom’s cheeks as if she was embarrassed that someone else knew their private shame. But all she said was, “Ah,” and turned back to face Landon just as Jeannie pulled away from his grip.

  She took another deep drink of her champagne and then held the glass at such an angle that nearly half the contents poured directly onto the floor. “But I’m ignoring our hostess!” she cried in what was truly a terrible British accent.

  Robert couldn’t believe people were buying this act. How was he even looking at the same person who blended behind the bar at Trenton’s, ready with the perfect Manhattan and a sympathetic ear? How was this the same woman who’d wrapped a silk tie around his wrists and then wrapped her nearly nude body around his?

  She was so much more than just the sum of those moments.

  And she was heading straight for him and his mother, pausing only long enough to get another glass of champagne. Landon’s friends—men who had power and wealth, although never as much of either as Landon had—sniggered at the sight of this supposed lady making a complete ass of herself.

  “Do you know,” Jeannie began, her words now noticeably slurred, “that I do think this is very good champ—whoopsie!”

  She stumbled forward, splashing Mom right in the chest and somehow managing to get a good part of the champagne onto Robert’s sleeve and face, as well.

  He nearly burst out laughing. Whoopsie. She’d had this planned from the moment she’d informed him she was coming with him, hadn’t she? By God, he’d never known a woman like Jeannie before.

  She wobbled dangerously on her heels, her dress nearly falling off her shoulders and exposing her breasts as she stumbled into Mom. “Oh, dear,” Jeannie said, a hysterical laugh in her voice that made her accent even more awful. “Oh, I’ve made a mess of your lovely dress. Oh, what a pity, it was so pretty. Grafton will be so displeased. Oh,” she said, clutching Mom by the arm and looking properly terrified, “you won’t tell him, will you?”